


spoilsport

by thegreatpumpkin



Series: these many years [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:53:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2741630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatpumpkin/pseuds/thegreatpumpkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The only thing you do more than chasing your quarry is talking about it.” On the way home from a night at the tavern, Glorfindel and Ecthelion quarrel about seduction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	spoilsport

**Author's Note:**

> While working on [The Right Word](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1024505/chapters/2039226), I realized I needed to flesh out the history between Ecthelion and Glorfindel. Therefore, these vignettes are set in the TRW universe, but can be read as a standalone.

**Gondolin  
FA 154**

There was nothing quite like the sound of Glorfindel and Ecthelion coming home from a night on the town. They both had fine singing voices—Ecthelion a pure clear tenor and Glorfindel a ringing baritone, which harmonized beautifully together. Unfortunately for the citizens of Gondolin, they typically used them to sing the most moving, mellifluous versions of every bawdy ballad the bards had ever written. And sometimes when they ran out, Ecthelion wrote his own.

“Couldn’t do it myself, _but my sister she can_!” They tripped merrily up a narrow way, their voices ringing off the stone as they fell about laughing after the song’s conclusion. Neither had drunk enough to need help walking, though they were both in high and rowdy spirits, arms across one another’s shoulders. They might have stayed out later, but Ecthelion had hit upon the desire to invent a new card game and insisted upon fetching his own cards to do it with. Glorfindel had been the only one willing to join him, so the players of this as-yet-undeveloped game were now down to two. He suspected, with some amusement, that Ecthelion might have already forgotten why they’d left, but that was all right.

They’d been friends these many years, and were easy in one another’s company in the way of long acquaintance. It had begun after the Siege of Angband—whatever had passed between them that night in Lothlann, Ecthelion had stopped treating him as an unwanted charge and started treating him as a lord in his own right. Coming to Gondolin, and being duly appointed as two of the king’s captains, had cemented their bond; they had been more or less inseparable since.

They were not alike in temperament. Ecthelion was bold and sharp and clever, with a temper like a powder keg. He had many admirers, but very few actual friends—both because he was discerning in his choice of company, and because people were a bit afraid of his razor tongue. He also had a penchant for manipulation, which served him well politically, though it earned him plenty of enemies. Glorfindel, by contrast, got along with everyone; he was warm and patient, if overly inclined to let others—Ecthelion in particular—tell him what to do. It was widely agreed that he was, if not as smart as Ecthelion, very much more approachable, which weighed strongly in his favour. Despite their differences, they got on famously (and caused plenty of trouble together, as unruly young men tend to do).

“Duilin’s sister was watching you all day in court, did you notice?” Ecthelion cuffed Glorfindel playfully, his voice far too loud. “Or maybe me. Probably me. What’s her name again?”

“Probably you,” Glorfindel said agreeably, at a more normal volume. “It’s Dínenel, not that you’ll recall it five minutes hence.”

“Ah, fair Dínenel! You must help me remember, Glorfindel. That’s a dish I’d like to sample.”

Glorfindel jostled him, laughing. “Duilin would castrate you, and then you’d be put off the feast for good.”

“You think Duilin can best me? He wields a sword like he’s pruning a garden.” Ecthelion jostled back, and there was a dangerously cheerful light in his eyes that made Glorfindel glad Duilin wasn’t nearby at the moment. Ecthelion would probably start a fight just to prove a point.

“Under normal circumstances, perhaps. Where his sister is involved, I think he could find a way.”

Ecthelion looked sidelong at his companion, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial shout. “You seem to know a lot about her! Maybe it _was_ you she was looking at.”

“Ah yes, my extensive knowledge of her name and her brother. I am, in fact, a studied expert.” Glorfindel enjoyed the rare occasions—usually when they were both drunk—that he got to be the sarcastic one.

“Duilin likes you better than me, you know. I’m almost certain he wouldn’t castrate _you_ for going after her...”

Glorfindel scoffed. “You know very well I don’t walk on that side of the street.”

“Such a wide, lovely thoroughfare, and you restrict yourself to half of it. It’s a crying shame.” They had had this argument before, of course. It didn’t stop them trying to think of new ways to convince the other.

“I barely have the time to walk my side. Why be greedy?”

That earned a bark of laughter from Ecthelion. “No, I don’t suppose anyone would ever accuse the Goldenflower of being greedy. I, on the other hand, take my pleasures wherever I find them, as frequently as I can.”

“We _know_ ,” Glorfindel shot back. “The only thing you do more than chasing your quarry is talking about it.”

They were drawing close to the House of the Fountain now, as evidenced by the musical splash of running water that grew louder with each step. Even at this hour the house would be buzzing with activity—Ecthelion had a sizeable family, and they tended to be night owls. He had four aunts and a great number of cousins, many of whom had children of their own, not to mention the husbands and wives and retainers and servants thereof. Ecthelion himself had been an only child, but he might as well have had twenty brothers.

Glorfindel wondered, considering the bustle they were surely headed towards, whether it was too late to go home instead. He had cards, assuming Ecthelion even remembered what they had come for. He also had plenty of wine, should they care to continue on that, and most enticingly the House of the Golden Flower would be serene and _quiet_ at this time of night.

He started to propose it as they rounded the corner, but a burst of noise and laughter cut him off. Ecthelion’s cousins were most certainly proving his point—at the moment, several of them had spilled out the doors of the great house into the front garden, and three had—in various states of undress—decided to swim in the fountain. Glorfindel did an abrupt about-face, catching Ecthelion by the back of his collar and nearly pulling him off his feet.

“Oh, no. That is not a mess I’m up for this evening. Let your family sort themselves out, we’ll go to mine.”

Ecthelion found this particularly funny. “You usually get on with them so well! If it weren’t for that hair we’d half forget you weren’t one of our own. And they’re having such a good time!”

“I get on with them when they’re more sober. Or I’m more drunk.” Glorfindel had not released his collar, still pulling him along like a mother with a disobedient child. “Besides, that’s not really what I’m worried about. They’re a bad influence on _you_ , and tonight is not a night I’m willing to pull you out of a fountain before you drown.”

“Spoilsport,” Ecthelion returned warmly, and Glorfindel let him go.

Once they turned towards Glorfindel’s, beyond sight of the raucous Fountain boys (not that they’d taken any notice of either one of them), Ecthelion threw his arm around Glorfindel’s shoulders again. He lowered his voice properly this time, which made Glorfindel wonder if he was sobering up already, or if his earlier ebullience had been an act. It was hard to tell with him.

“Maybe you just wanted to get me alone,” he suggested, with a grin that was far too calculated to hold any appeal for Glorfindel.

“That’s the best you can do? As jokes at my expense go, that’s not even the best one you’ve told in the last hour.” Glorfindel hip-checked him in playful reprimand, unable to do much more with Ecthelion dragging on his shoulders. “I’m alone with you all the time, you dolt.”

Ecthelion patted his cheek. “It wasn’t a bad _joke_ , it was a bad lead-in to a bad proposition. Give me a minute, I’m getting there.” Glorfindel quirked an eyebrow at him, and he went on. “Since you will not let me pursue the lovely Dúlindel—”

“Dínenel,” Glorfindel supplied, though he was beginning to suspect that Ecthelion was neither as drunk nor as forgetful as he was pretending just now.

“—Delunel, yes—since you will not let me pursue her, I can only assume you mean to keep me for yourself. What can I do but oblige?”

Glorfindel rolled his eyes. “When you said bad, you really meant it, didn’t you? You’re not supposed to _tell_ someone they’re your second choice. And to think, I’ve heard so much about the skillful seductions of the Lord of the Fountain! Go back to the jokes at my expense, you’re much better at them.”

He expected a rude rejoinder. What he did not expect was to find Ecthelion steering him—somewhat forcefully—into an empty archway they were passing, leaning close, his eyes alight. “Did you want skillful seduction, Glorfindel?” he asked, in an entirely different tone, confirming the suspicion that he was not particularly inebriated. “I thought familiar and brash would do better for you, but if you prefer ardent words and subtle signals, I have plenty of those too.”

Glorfindel sighed and leaned back against the stone, crossing his arms in a show of patient longsuffering, though his smile was not far from the surface. “Oh, stop. Assuming you’re in earnest—and I have my doubts—we both know this endeavor is doomed to failure.”

Ecthelion pressed into his space, hovering there without quite touching him. That was, no doubt, one of his favorite tactics—too close and not close enough. “Ah, but _why_? History suggests you would enjoy it. I know I certainly would.”

“That was _once_ , under special circumstances. What trauma do you imagine you’d be rescuing me from this time?” Glorfindel was the picture of smug disinterest, but he didn’t increase the space between them, which Ecthelion took as an invitation to press his suit.

“Boredom?” He put a supporting hand against the wall beside Glorfindel’s head, leaning in further, now blocking Glorfindel in place with his body though they still did not touch. “I could make it worth your while, I promise you.”

Glorfindel glanced pointedly at the hand; then, when it was not withdrawn, he caught Ecthelion by the wrist and removed it forcibly, ducking beneath his arm and out of the archway with a sharp smile. “I have cards and wine, and you are welcome to come partake of them. If you want more, you have two perfectly good hands and a home of your own to return to.”

Ecthelion came after, putting an arm around him again—at his waist rather than his shoulders. His face had lost some of its predatory expression, though, so Glorfindel allowed it. “All right, all right. I am appropriately chastened. For now. But at least answer my question—why not?"

Glorfindel glanced at him quellingly, but he did seem to be genuinely curious, as if the answer wasn’t blindingly obvious. “You’re well aware of my feelings for you. That’s why not.”

Ecthelion smiled all-too-brightly, and Glorfindel immediately regretted giving him a serious answer. “All the more reason you should take me up on the offer.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no, and _no._ ” Glorfindel twisted out of his grasp a second time, putting space between them. So that was his game. He supposed he should be angry, but really, it was just what he expected of Ecthelion—it was a little bit funny, in an awful way. “Thel, you manipulative son of Morgoth, _no._ You thought that would make me an easier target? If you wanted me at your feet begging for scraps, you should have tried it when I was young and didn’t know any better. That time is past. I have better things to do now, and _you_ —” he crowed and jabbed a finger in Ecthelion’s direction— “ _you_ are going to go home to your cold bed. I never thought I would get the joy of watching you reap what you’d sown, but here we are.”

Ecthelion was obviously not expecting that, though he took it in stride. He turned on his _we’re-all-friends-here_ smile, holding his palms up placatingly. “Peace, ‘Lor! If I’d known you would balk like an unbroken horse, I would have led you to it more gently.”

Glorfindel was the one advancing on _him_ now, his grin a little savage. “But you still would have led me to it? Never mind, I know the answer, of course.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Ecthelion said, affecting a tone of indifference. “I thought you’d be an easy mark.” Everything was like that with Ecthelion—affected, calculated, intentional. Glorfindel had known it already, but he didn’t often see it in such stark relief. There was nothing unstudied in any of his reactions, but Glorfindel had learned to read a little of what was underneath them. And to be honest, despite his show of nonchalance, he was telegraphing very clearly how he felt about things not going as planned.

He was displeased, and Glorfindel was _delighted._ “Too late for that now, Thel, you’ve already shown your hand. You gambled and you _lost_. How often does that happen? How often does Great Ecthelion, Lord of the Fountain, _not_ get his way?”

“As if you aren’t used to having your way too!” Ecthelion rolled his eyes, but there was tension in his shoulders, as if the mask were cracking.

Glorfindel pressed him, leaning down into his space—he was, after all, the taller of them, though it was easy to forget in the face of Ecthelion’s sizeable personality. “People say no to me all the time. No one ever refuses you. I’ve always thought it could do you a world of good. You have no idea how _satisfying_ it is—”

“ _Stop_.” The word hung in the air between them, charged and dangerous. Glorfindel felt his heart stall and then restart in an entirely new rhythm at the force of it. This was the real Ecthelion, beneath all the pretence—too proud to be a gracious loser and glittering with fury. _Should have shown me this face first_ , Glorfindel thought with some bitterness, _it might have worked._

Sometimes Glorfindel had wondered whether he was truly still in love with Ecthelion, or if it was only habit; well, here was his answer. There was a tugging in his chest, as if there was a rope anchored beneath his breastbone and Ecthelion hauled at the other end of it. He would die for this proud peacock of a Noldo, more than likely. But he wouldn’t be manipulated, and Ecthelion deserved everything he got for even trying. “You have no idea how satisfying it is,” Glorfindel continued in a voice every bit as dangerous, “to be the one to tell you no.”

He paused then, stepped back. “I may love you, but you will not use that against me. Goodnight, Ecthelion.”

Ecthelion stepped back too after a moment, though he said nothing. Then, almost as one, they each turned and walked in opposite directions.

In the morning they pretended, by some unspoken mutual agreement, that none of it had happened.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. _Dínenel, Dúlindel, Delunel_ \--This is a bad joke on my part. Dínenel means silent maiden, i.e. no speaking part in this story. Ecthelion's first mangled version, Dúlindel, is basically the feminine version of Duilin--like calling your friend George's sister Georgette when you can't remember her name. His second version, Delunel, means hateful maiden.
> 
> Basically, Ecthelion's being a jerk. As he tends to do.


End file.
